#8

7 Things People With Anxiety Want Loved Ones to Know

This is a a pretty good article.

There needs to be a #8.

#8 Some of us have been so scared about what people would think of us if we admitted all of our fears and anxiety that we have pretended like we didn't have them.

What do I do all day?

Most days, at least, or at least especially lately I feel like I don't do anything all day.

I am going to chronicle my day here just to see if I truly didn't do anything.

The last 24 hours:

6PM Wed - making dinner  Frozen Raviolis, steamed broccii, garlic bread

6:30PM serving/eating dinner

7PM escape to my room for a few minutes to do the puzzle

7:10PM Jonathon comes into the room and wants to talk about really deep stuff

8PM  Fix the kids ice cream

8:30PM  Start bedtime routine, do chores, load the dishes

9:30PM  lay down with AJ and fall asleep

10 something PM go and get in my own bed

sometime in the night:  AJ comes into bed with me

5:07AM  AJ wants to nurse - fight him about that until about

6AM  nurse AJ for a few minutes and then got up

6:15AM be followed around by AJ being mad at me because I wouldn't nurse him more, or I gave him the wrong cup with his milk in it or the wrong lid or the wrong straw.

6:45AM  get into a serious discussion with Jonathon about groceries and money

7:10AM Jonathon leaves for work - I don't know what I do, probably drink coffee, avoid AJ and look at my phone.

7:45AM started to make pancakes but realized I didn't have the ingredients so I just made a big batch of the dry part, I also made syrup.  I made oatmeal as a 2nd choice.

I really have no idea what happened between then and 9AM.  I remember it was 9A when I was finally making Ellie get out of bed, had all the kids get dressed and start chores.

Then I got on the phone with DSS, was on hold for 45 minutes and then talked to the lady for about 30.

Kids were doing school, I changed AJ's diaper and worked on lesson goals for our fall session of school.

10:50 I was off the phone and Isaac was doing ETC and said it was time for their break so I sent them all outside.

The were outside for about 4 minutes before Journey was back in because she stepped in chicken poop.  I was cleaning up the kitchen. I warmed up some left over meatballs, made some PBJ's and put out chips and salsa for lunch.

Noon:  they ate and then cleaned up - they had destroyed the living room at some point that morning.

A little after 1PM I left with the middle 3 and we went to the library and speech.  E and I did some school work while at speech.

3:15 I was home and AJ was a sleep so I laid down until 4:30.  Journey kept coming into the room though.

Again -no idea what happened then.  I went out and feed the chickens, gathered the eggs and shut them in for the night.

6PM - started dinner

The story of the girl with the M&Ms

Once upon a time there was a little girl that had many m&ms.  They were really yummy m&ms and she had a lot of them.  No one really knew where she got them, and really, she didn't know either.  They were just there;  all the colors, this was even before the blue ones came out.  She had the holiday ones, peanut, mint, peanut butter, pretzel,  plain-all of them.  She liked her m&ms.  The peanut butter were her favorite.  The m&ms were important.

She liked to share her m&ms.  She would give them out at school or church or sometimes at home - she loved the look of happiness or pride on another's face when they had that little colorful pile in their hand.

Sometimes though people would take her m&ms.  Sometimes they would go missing from the place that she kept them, sometimes they were physically ripped out of her hands, they were dug out of her pockets and snatched as she was about to put some into her mouth.  Sometimes they would reject her m&ms.  She would give and there would be no pride just more taking.

This hurt, it was frustrating, and confusing.

She thought, well I always have more, they always just show up so I guess it isn't a big deal.   Maybe it is normal.  Sometimes though, she would ask people, why do people take my m&ms? I am willing to share. What do I have to do to keep some m&m's?

She was told that she has to give more m&ms then the people would stop taking so many.  She was told that she should take less for herself.  This sounded good to her.

Then

She wasn't a little girl anymore.

She started to tell herself that she was being selfish by taking *any*  m&ms.  Didn't she realize the number of m&ms that she had taken for herself?  It was so awfully many, wasn't it enough?  Actually she thought that she deserved to have the m&ms taken.  What had she done to get the m&ms?  How dare she be so upset about the ones that she didn't have?  She told herself that it was her job to make sure everyone else had their m&ms.

Somehow she found more people to take the m&ms from her.  More and more and more of them.

Then

She would run from those people and horde what was left of the m&ms.  Taking them for herself, bingeing on her freedom to eat as many as she could, keeping them from the takers. Making herself sick.

Time passed as she sometimes gave them, sometimes received them.  Sometimes her misguided attempts to protect the m&ms would make her sick.  Sometimes there were none. Sometimes there were, even peanut butter ones. Sometimes there were m&ms and she would ignore the m&ms, for fear that someone else might take them.

Then

She realized that she was in control of her m&ms. She realized it was her responsibility to stop the taking. That she could do the giving, freely.  She remembered that she loved the giving.

She didn't know how to be in control of her own m&ms.  She had forgotten how to give them freely.

She knew it would be hard - harder than all the taking, harder than the rejection, more painful than the bingeing - she had to learn to be in charge of her own m&ms.

I had to go to a funeral yesterday.

I was kinda hoping that, like attending the funeral, I was going to be able to avoid writing about it.

It was a funeral for a 3 year old boy, a beautiful, perfect, innocent child that died of a freak it-was-no-ones-fault accident.

I want to find a reason.

I am not sure how this family would feel about me writing about my experience.

What is my experience? What little consequences is my experience with this?  Who am I?  No one, really, where this is concerned. . .

I feel like I know this family pretty well, the mother is the dearest sweetest lady.  This family has been to my home, supported me when AJ was born, we have seen each other at community events.  We share our mothering community.

I feel very little claim to the outrageous amount of emotion that this situation has torn from me, though.

What I do think this family would want, has communicated that they want, is for people to see the bigger picture, for good and growth and understanding to come from a desperately sad event.

I think what I heard my dear friend saying yesterday was to appreciate every moment, lean on God's strength in the struggles, and always always have faith in God's plan.

It is hard.  It don't want to.  I want to fight and punch and kick at the injustice of it all.  I want to wallow in the fear of it happening to me.

I will allow myself my questions - my doubts - my fear - my anger at the senselessness.

but I will also look at the extraordinary picture that is being painted; of my friend's commitment to her Faith, her children gone before her, her children here with her, and the life that has been chosen for her.

I will be rebuked, I will be in awe and I will be thankful that I had the chance to see that little boy smile at my son, that I have witnessed unconditional love through this family, and that I am privileged to have this experience as part of my journey.

I am not every woman.

I am not every women.
not before, now or later.

I am not on an unending quest for self improvement.
I am on an unending quest for acceptance of the now.

I am not every women:
wife, mother, daughter, granddaughter, sister, friend, parishioner, student, teacher, employee, citizen -

I am not all these things.
I am simply fulling the roles of these vocations.

I am not every women.
these things are not mutually exclusive or simultaneously accessible.

At least not for me.

with my sanity in tact.   .

I am not every women.
these things give shape, they are the outline of the color book pages of my days.

I fill the space.
I color and leave blank and bedazzle as I see fit.

I am not every women.

Regret.

If I Had My Life to Live Over

I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
I'd relax. I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.
I would take more trips.
I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers.
I would eat more ice cream and less beans.

I would perhaps have more actual troubles but I'd
have fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly
and sanely hour after hour, day after day.

Oh, I've had my moments and if I had it to do over
again, I'd have more of them. In fact,
I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments.

One after another, instead of living so many
years ahead of each day.

I've been one of those people who never go anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat
and a parachute.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot
earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.

If I had it to do again, I would travel lighter next time.
I would go to more dances.
I would ride more merry-go-rounds.
I would pick more daisies.

By Nadine Stair (age 85)

The first time I read this I was 17.  I worked in the high school office for half a day my senior year.  One of the secretaries had it on a plain piece of copy paper, the letters were faded and the edges folded, it was on a cork board with a flat thumb tack.   Once she saw me reading it, I read it often. . .as I went about my work.  It was my job to address the notices to the parents of children who had gotten written up.  The type writer, yes I said type writer, that I used was near her office.  I can't remember the ladies name, Mrs.  something that begins with an H, her husband was a math teacher I liked. She said something to the effect of "I think it is really great you are thinking about this at such a young age."  I don't think she knew how old I was inside, what I had been through. How old I felt and how hard I was fighting against that old feeling, that was simply part of who I was.

A couple of years later, it was Christmas time, I was in a very familiar place with a lady that I really respected.  I had a glass of wine, I wasn't yet 21, that sticks out in my mind.  It was warm there and dark and I was comfortable.  I talked about not wanting to live my life with regrets.  She was skeptical.  I don't remember the conversation exactly.  Her response was something to the effect of - everyone makes mistakes and you are not perfect - a message that my 19 year old self probably needed reminding of yet, still, balked at.

These two conversations, this poem, and careful analyzing of my life (something I am incapable of not doing) have stuck with me through the years.  Two words jump out at me:

Mistakes

and

Regrets

Now, at 2 days past my 35th birthday. . .in all my unending wisdom and experience.  ha.  I am beginning to see what it means to not live regretful for my mistakes.  I live with the consequences of my mistakes.  I attempt to live with an attitude of accepting my need for forgiveness - constant unending need, from God and people.  Living with regret though - is not living - it is being stuck in the mucky bog of bitterness.  It is the blame game, it is dying from the inside out.

It is lack of faith - in God and people.

Ultimately, I realize - I can not redo.

I can't go back and pick daisies of forgiveness when I was picking the wilting flowers of long held grudges.

I can't remember things I should have remembered and forgot.

I can't take back the words that were not heard the way they were intended, the the ones that were and shouldn't have ever been said.

I can't not have relationships that I wish had never been had. . .and for some of them I am glad I can't.

I can't regret not being what others have thought I should be -

If I am to claim a regret it would be in the trying to.

All I can do is live today, not holding on to all those times I chose to grip that which would kill me.

I can open my hand to the giving and receiving of  forgiveness, care, respect and even potential hurts.

. . .withoutfear. . .

Boundries, Fences and kinda, sorta, parenting. . .

I read this story a really long time ago, when I first learned about grace-based parenting, that was about building fences.  (me and grace-based parenting have had a tumultuous relationship which would need another post, but this fences thing applies regardless of where you put the fence or how you prove it.)  I tell it pretty often; especially to exasperated moms of little boys.  I tell it to myself a lot too, as I am on of them.

An aside - Part of my parenting is the question that I ask my children, often, which is "what is my job?"  and "what is your job?"  (I suppose for the Lutherans among us this could be vocation)  My job is to "keep you (my children) safe and to teach you things"  and their job is to "follow directions"  (which I suppose is just a gentler way of saying obey).  We also discuss Love and Kindness and Compassion but those are more like the things that we get to do and want to do just because we are so blessed by each other - I want those to separate from our "jobs."

Okay so the fences story:

Every parent puts up fences for their children, it is part of their job.  The fence is there to keep the child in and keep bad stuff out.  The fence is annoying because there is really cool stuff on the other side of it, and we understand that, but it is still there for a purpose and is for the best.  This is the thing though, some children will walk up to a fence, point their finger, push the fence with it and walk away to enjoy the green grass inside.  This is very few children, but you are blessed if they are one of yours.  Others will hit the fence, kick the fence, push it and ram it with their shoulder.  Others will back up 50 feet run full speed body slam into the fence fall on their butt and get up and do it again.

That last one would be my children.

And yes, it doesn't matter if that fence had electric shocks every time they hit it - they would still keep doing it.

I keep telling this story to myself and other parents and to my children for several reasons.

One is to realize that boundary pushing is a normal part of life.  It is normal because we all want what is on the other side of the fence, at least a little, and if you think that you don't I am not so sure you are being honest with yourself.   This is just part of being human, us Christians would call it sin.

Another is to remind us about our jobs - and how they are good and purposeful jobs.  I keep them safe and teach them things and they trust me and follow my directions.

But the biggest reason is because I want them to learn to make their own boundaries.  I want to learn to hold my own, to build my fences.  I am not even saying that every fence has to be a two foot thick brick wall, and I would recommend that it wasn't because sometimes boundaries have to move.  But, we should all have boundaries and have a way to hold them, even when people are backing up 50 feet and running full speed at them.

It is hard -

It is hard to know when to move the fence, it is hard to know where to put it with our children and others.  It is hard, for me, to know the line between selfishness and boundary setting.

But it is good and necessary and we have to remember that.

Enthusiasm

I think I have lost mine.  or rather it is all muddied up in my confusion.

I told Jonathon that I was going to have his midlife crisis for him so he wasn't allowed to have one.  Selfish huh?  He said all he wants for his midlife crisis is a 1970's Camaro.  I wish I could buy him one.  That would be way more simple than me having to have his midlife crisis for him.

He is going to be 47 next month.  I will be 35.

I was really excited to turn 30, and my life has improved exponentially since 30, so I am still cool with that.

I have lost something though. . .or maybe, moved on from it, let go of it, changed the way it looks. . .

Enthusiasm.

Passion.

Drive.

Focus has shifted.  To what I am not so sure, I can't put my finger on it.  I can't put it into words yet.

It has something to do with this though:

The key to creating godly enthusiasm isn’t the church imposing a bunch of rules and regulations on what is required of every member so that everyone is doing their “fair share.”  True enthusiasm flows from a deepening appreciation for what Jesus has rescued you from personally, from a growing desire to personally express your gratitude with acts of love and service.  That’s the attitude of the new person that God’s Spirit has raised up in you! (http://us2.campaign-archive2.com/?u=e384390fd2d8088d378e0755f&id=20bc7338dd)

It is from our sermon on Sunday.

I could also add, instead of "church"  - "myself".   In addition to "rescued you from"  I could add "given you in the here and now, the trees and grass and house and children and smiles and books and flowers and people." To "acts of love and service" I would add "simple appreciation."

I think that is what motivates enthusiasm in this new me.  It isn't excitement or passion or emotion or a new law or dream or goal or the old law and my ability to follow it the best.  It is just simple appreciation.

For where I am.

What I already have.

The things I already know.

Who is already in my life.

What God has already done for me.

Simple appreciation.

Somewhere between

This first song is "I ain't the same" by Alabama Shakes, the second is "It's Time" by Imagine Dragons.   I believe music speaks - and that both of these songs are saying something very different from each other, and yet, they are both - right.

How can that be?

A Story -

A couple of weeks ago I wanted to go to a writers group.  I was rushing around, I put on pants with a button, wow, go me.   Actually, I was pretty desperate to make this meeting.

What happens at this writers group is  5-8 people meet in a room at the library, bring several copies of a chapter or a short story that they have written, and read it aloud.  Then the other people critic them.  There are published novelists there.  It is pretty serious stuff.

I was rushing around and could not for the life of me get my computer to make my printer print.  It was maddening, I gave up and went to the library to print it.  There were no computers available at the library, there was no way to hook up my computer to the library printer and it was going to cost me 25 cents a page to print (that is 3 pages times 8 people).  I gave up.  I went home.  I pouted and got on with my evening.

I told myself something that I hadn't said in a long time "it just wasn't meant to be"  which is dangerously close to "God didn't want me there."   I couldn't get it out of my head.  I kept telling people about it.

Then, last week they were having writers group again, I told Jonathon before he left for work that I was planning on going. I had used the printer earlier in the week for something else, unrelated, but hadn't printed the document that I was taking to share.  I was determined to deal with that earlier in the day.  A couple hours later I was sitting at the table with several of my children doing school work and the printer started printing.  I am dead serious.  I wasn't even near the computer.  The first thing I did was look over at the computer, closed, on a table across the room.

It was printing the document that I wanted to take to writers group two weeks before.

I don't believe in stuff like this.

I don't believe in Karma or the universe or fate.  I don't even believe that God works that way, anymore.  I used to think that every little thing meant something.  What I mean is, I don't really think that God gives a care whether I go to writers group or not.  I don't think it is good to spend all my time analyzing every little thing that I do and the response that I get from it or what happens because of this or that thing (benign things, not something obviously right or wrong).  It isn't healthy for me to ascribe a "God loves me for doing *this* and punishes me for doing *that* to everything that I do.  I thought I was over that.  This silly printer thing kinda rocked that paradigm for me a bit - okay -  so maybe a lot.

In this way I feel like "I ain't the same anymore" but in another way, even time can't take some things from us, "I am just the same as I was, I am never changing who I am."

How this tension between *change* and *the same* works I don't know.

Why things happen or don't happen, why my printer wouldn't work and then worked with out being told to work.  I really really don't know.  I think it is an extreme example of my lack of control.

My need to accept -

This - just this.  This moment and experience and situation.

And yet - move forward from it;  learning, growing, changing - anything but staying still.

It is hard.  The not understanding.

And still -

Figuring out how to simply live this mysterious, crazy, complicated, confusing, amazing, blessed life that I live.

Musings on worth it and Facebook

Both of these articles have popped up on my FB page this week while I was supposedly taking a "break."

Ummmm, yeah.

5 questions about social media

and

How to love an Empath

I really think they are about the same thing.  At least for me.

In response to 5 questions - I completely get the point.  I knew I was having a problem last week when I thought - oh I should make bread so I can post pictures of it on facebook.  Ummmm, nope.  I justify myself constantly when posting on FB or here, saying "well, at least I don't do THAT" - which this article covers thoroughly.  I think it can lead to discontent when we see everyone else having fun and we aren't or getting stuff that we aren't or being something that we aren't.  This I must be on guard against.

What I really learned about myself, and this is not new information to anyone else is that I am a validation junkie. I don't really care what you are doing, I just want someone to appreciate what I am doing.  I am not sure that this is all bad.  It can become bad when I don't get the response that I was hoping for and it ruins me, which I struggle with, but what the Empath article made me realize is - this is also a good part of me.

It is a hard part - I am pretty sure it makes people less want to engage with me.  Realness is uncomfortable, heck, anymore, kindness is sometimes uncomfortable.  When I worked at Amazon I started the happy face club, I feel a little bit like I should be ashamed of this, or of telling people about it.  I bought a bunch of tiny happy faces and started giving them out to people that were nice or looked like they needed cheering up, it made me *so* happy to do this.  So so happy!   I am not ashamed, I am proud.  I am proud that I am the type of person that can give in this way.  I feel horrible when I talk myself out of giving.

This is the thing though, I also love to receive, I try hard not to take - not to be needy (something I have been accused of before, much to the detriment of my mental health ;) ).  I posted about M&M's on FB yesterday.  It was true that the bag of M&M's were gone, literally.  This was an analogy though, and the people that posted played into it perfectly.  Jonathon and I talked about this the other night.  He needs things of the heart to have a concrete explanation.  I told him that I needed a full bag of M&Ms and I love giving away my M&M's and, often, it is like more just appear, but when they are taken and not returned - I run out.

This is not a good place for me - The connections that I have on FB fill my M&Ms.  No one has to comment, everyone is more than welcome to unfriend me, same with this blog, read it, don't read it - I can live with that.  Me, telling myself that I am bad or wrong for wanting to share though - that is what kills me - that is what empties my bag.  I will keep engaging with people on the internet, I will keep inviting people into my life and being rejected, I will keep serving and sharing and being my interesting self - because I am and I can't not be.

What I must do is be more aware of the little ways that my M&Ms are given back; with a kiss from my baby or a positive school day with my struggling student or a smile back in the grocery store .  These are the M&Ms of life and I love them (especially the peanut butter ones!).

And always the hope is that social media is a means - to face to face interactions, to truth and Truth being spoken among friends, to opportunity for care and compassion being communicated and acted out, in real life and real time.

Because that is so completely worth it.

Neither

When I started this blog I didn't consider the "neither" - for someone so often unable to make up their mind the irony is not lost.

Disposable life! !

Disposable life
territory example of love
Wrapping in plastic bags
Flying with windstorm

Annoying the air of cool wind
Finding a new rescue of life
Disposable life

Clitch on wrist
Run wid fun
Tickle on face
Live with charm
Disposable life

Factory trash in canal view
Burning the sick desires few
Waiting at the end of street
Watchng the cars passing by
Disposable life
Bunch it crunch it
Disposable life 

Somia Race

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/disposable-life/

Just found this poem - I like.

BBQ Chicken

One of the best things that I have ever done was get into the habit of buying tons of chicken breasts and ground beef at the beginning of the month and then cooking it all up and putting it in dinner sized portions in the freezer.  It is probably the only reason that I actually cook at all.  I recognize and feel an appropriate about of guilt over the fact that we eat said chicken and ground beef for nearly every meal.  Oh well.

This evening I, of course, didn't want to fix dinner.  I had some shredded chicken that needed to be fixed, and some hoggie buns that needed to be eaten and after perusing Pinterest for 30 minutes I decided to KISS and slap some Sweet Baby Rays on that chicken put it in the microwave and call it good.  Add some chips and baby carrots, bada bing, bada boom - dinner.  I know I am such a gourmet.

The point of this story is that over our lovely BBQ chicken I remember to tell my husband that I called in his prescription and that he needs to pick it up on Monday.  He responses with "oh has it been a month already?"

This proves how on completely different wavelengths we are.

The last time that he had a refill it was Dec 4th.  For some reason I noticed this when I called the Dr. this morning.  I remember the day.  I insisted that he take UnPaid Time off to go and get the medication.  We were both working, I remember the conversation specifically.

To my point.

That was a *really* really really long time ago to me.

Worth it

Journey just said "I want to learn to read."  Wahoo!

Worth it

Places I have lived source map

http://free.sourcemap.com/view/7293#cluster-stop-1

Disposable

Taking myself too seriously.

It is really interesting to me how easily I can accidently make people think something about me that I don't really feel is true.  While, simultaneously being annoyed at them for not recognizing the real me.